October 7, 2013 - Dehradun and Mussoorie

Last weekend, I went to Dehradun, a town at the foothills of the Himalayas. The first half of the several-hour drive is on the same highway that goes to Rishikesh. The first time I rode on this highway early in the year, I could not stop staring out the window, taking it all in. Now, it seems familiar.

We stopped at the same Haldiram’s as last time (for the river rafting.) I was told that the concept of a roadside restaurant complex is relatively new in India. (They are a dime a dozen in the States.) Restaurants other than Haldiram’s at this rest stop include McDonald’s, Baskin Robbins, and Subway. I had myself some chole bhature (poofy fried bread with spicy garbanzo bean sauce) for breakfast.

Three vehicles went, all maroon, so we were a matching procession up the highway. I was in the Scorpio with two very friendly teenagers, the children of one of the couples going on the trip. This trip was a private trip – not through Internations – and so was all Indian couples except for me and three adolescents. I think the other couples kept forgetting I wasn’t one of the kids, but that was okay since the kids spoke more English anyway and were up on Western pop culture, more so than I, even.

Dehradun is apparently trying to be Delhi’s new suburb, despite the distance. It’s a city of three quarters of a million, though did not feel that big as we drove through the small, curvy, crowded streets with not a highway in sight. I did not actually get a good sense of Dehradun as a whole. Most of the time, we stayed at a quiet resort along a small river that eventually joins up with the Yamuna, which flows into Delhi. The place we stayed was called “Rio Resort”.

Gazebos and My Cottage at Rio Resort, Dehradun

The rooms were very nice and comfortable. And the bed was soft! That was a first! Even the bed at my apartment is as hard as a rock. Though, the sheets and towels were only “India clean.” I found the requisite black hair under the pillow (that otherwise looked clean enough) and towels that really could use a good washing with hot water and bleach. Just like pretty much every non-5-star hotel in this country.

We met the friendly owner of the resort at one point. He said he had named his resort Rio because he was looking for a short word that meant “River”. When he found the Portuguese / Spanish word, the name was decided, but he pronounces it “Rye-o” instead of “Ree-o” which I found kind of cute, though strange. It does make me take for granted how many Spanish words I automatically know how to say because I am from Colorado. Or listen to too much Duran Duran.

Rio Resort River, Looking up to Mussoorie

In the evening, we drove to what I assume is downtown Dehradun, a very busy road lined on both sides with fancy shops, restaurants, arcades, etc. They had a well-known bakery called “Ellora” on the main stretch in which I ate the most delicious baked good I’ve ever had in India, despite that the guy behind the counter as well as the guy he handed it to for heating both touched my brownie with their fingers. At least it got microwaved afterward. We walked up and down the street which was mostly a loud and harrowing experience. There were sidewalks but they were being used by cars and motorcycles as parking, so you had to walk in between parked cars and traffic. You couldn’t let your attention slip for a moment. I grabbed the arm of the person next to me before attempting to cross. The shops were nice, though there were a surprising amount of child beggars / balloon sellers on the street.

The next morning’s activity was definitely the highlight of the trip.

Only ten minutes by foot up the road from the resort was Robber’s Cave.

Someone lent me flip-flops (as my awesome sandals got lost during the Ladakh trip) and then we stepped into the river.

Crossing the River to get to the Entrance

Further In…

I had a smile plastered on my face. This. Was. Awesome. Worth the whole trip. I can’t imagine having been the first person who discovered this path, risking the unknown depths and destination.

Looking Back

Looking Up!

At the other end was a little pool surrounded by wet, climbable rocks, which we all started climbing. It was a bit slippery on the way up but since I am stubborn, I refused any help. Also, I needed both of my hands for scampering.

Inside (Over?) Robber’s Cave

So, at the end of the hike was a waterfall. At first, I was like, “no way”, least of which because I was carrying my camera. (And it was pretty hard to keep it dry even in the vicinity of the fall.) Then the guy in front of me handed his glasses and phone to one of the local workers to hold. He stood under and got pummeled by the water, then stepped out.

So I said, all right then. I gave my camera to the same dude and walked toward the waterfall.

The other guy had stepped under, got super wet, then had stepped out, but when I stepped under the waterfall, I dropped. The ground under the waterfall was (in hindsight, obviously) deeper than the surrounding ground. Much deeper. I sank, pressed down by the fall, my flipflops both flew off in a second. Underwater, I started swimming for it, wondering if I would be trapped. But then two hands of either some random other guys or the locals who were accompanying us, pulled me out. From then on, I dropped the stubbornness about them helping me.

Waterfall

Soaked from head to toe, I headed back out to the group (most did not go all the way to the fall.) Then we all started the walk back together, walking downstream making it more difficult to keep flipflops on. I really missed my sandals. When one of the mothers – the one who was nearest to my age – told me I should hold someone’s hand for the walk back, the stubbornness returned. I innocently stated that if someone needed their hand held for the walk back, I’d be happy to oblige. She did not reply. I have a strong feeling they all thought I was in my early twenties and treated me as such. I wavered between wanting to say, “I’m almost forty, people!” and not wanting to discourage the youthful misconception and/or embarrass them. And my fake youth gave me an excuse for my stubbornness, so why advertise that I should be more mature.

After we showered up (glad I know how to use a geyser) we started driving into the mountains and had lunch at an acquaintance of the Major’s at a place called The Marigold, which is known for its fresh daily food. The woman was able to accommodate all 12 of us (and three extra meals for the drivers) no problem, I was impressed. Although someone had called it a “light snack”, food just kept coming out. Momos, noodles, rice, the list went on. And tasty!

We continued our drive up the twisty mountain roads (paved and with barriers) to Mussoorie, a small town (26K pop) that has a pedestrian mall similar to Shimla. The drivers dropped us off at the entrance and we started to wander. It was a snack-fest with the peanuts, popcorn, and other munchies. We passed by a chocolatier and I got myself a fairly decent truffle from the man behind the counter who put on a plastic glove before handing it to me (and I didn’t even have to ask!)

Mussoorie (not Missouri like I keep hearing…)

It was a cute town, but the view back down to Dehradun, which I can tell would have been stunning, was instead just a bank of fog.

The dinners provided by the resort were pretty decent and the service was good. (One of the main guys even came out to the main gazebo with a spare umbrella during a particularly brutal thunderstorm.) The food was served standard India buffet style and there was plenty of it! Though the chicken was just pre-packaged nuggets. I learned a new card game that was easy enough for any age (and we ranged from mid-teens to mid-70s I think) that involved building up and down the four suits. We passed some time playing that.

It was this trip that, for the first time, I really felt the effect of the Indian Food Offering I had read about. When I was researching India before I came, there was a lot of reference to the behavior that, when someone offers you food, you are supposed to decline first, regardless of whether you want it. Then that person is supposed to offer it again. First off, if I really want what is offered, I just CAN’T decline, despite knowing this. I like my food. And sometimes there is no second offer. (I’m not yet savvy enough to figure out which times I will get offered again.) If I only sort of want it or feel like I really shouldn’t have that second helping of dessert, I get very weirded out when it is offered twice. I feel like they either ignored me or did not respect my “No, thanks” boundary. If it is offered a third time, I contemplate taking it just so they’ll stop asking, even if I do not want it, because wow, they really must want me to have it. It took me half the weekend to catch on that this was a cultural difference, and one I had actually known about. The food dynamics were weird. I felt like I was getting over fed Italian-Grandmother-style most of the trip. Granted, this is infinitely, infinitely preferable to the reverse, like during my Delhi Tourism trip, where they seemed to not understand that their guests might want more than one meal a day.

For our trip back to Delhi, someone suggested doing something that I did not understand. I said, “I have no idea what that is, but sounds good!” The others laughed, but I probably should have double checked…

We went to a Sikh temple for lunch. None of us are Sikh. I recognized what the temple (on the border of Uttarakhand and Uttar Pradesh I think) was immediately when we arrived because it was so similar to the one in Delhi.

Sikh Temple Dome

These are some things about visiting a Sikh temple:

• Sikh temples require everyone (men and women alike) to wear head coverings. I was the only one in the car who apparently did not carry a head scarf around in their bag, so I had to use a shared one provided by the temple.
• Sikh temples require that you remove your shoes (like most temples here) and there is a fairly long section you have to walk where there are both shod and barefoot people. (You walk through water to clean your feet before mounting the stairs to the main temple.)
• In the temple itself, you can receive a handful (literally, a hand full) of mystery squishy food from a holy man. The others kept offering to get me some when I did not get some for myself. You can sit inside on the floor of the temple (many were) or just walk in a clockwise direction around it.
• Sikh temples provide a free vegetarian lunch to anyone – ANYONE – who comes in. This is provided in an adjacent hall. As you might expect, they have mass food service down to a science. Several dishwashers wash the metal trays and put them in a big container that you take a tray and a bowl for water from. Then you sit along a (obviously not very clean) thin rug in tight rows. Men come down the row with various food like rice, curries, fresh roti, soup, water, etc that they put on your tray on request. The ‘on request’ is important because apparently (and thank God someone told me) you are supposed to eat everything on your plate and leave not one bit behind.

If you do not understand why any of the above may have bothered me, you may understand when the older teenager asked shortly later, “Do you have OCD?”

I don’t have real, true OCD, but I’m particular about certain things. This includes a strong desire to have clean feet, clean hands, not eat food other people (especially strangers) have touched, not eat anything that has come in contact with India water (most Indians agree with me here), and not sit down in dirty places. And the above experience, especially at the end of a long, somewhat culturally frustrating trip, caused me a lot of embarrassing stress.

There was one piece of information that would have helped immensely. A piece of information that I would have had absolutely no way of knowing as I have never seen this or heard of this anywhere else in India. The water used to clean the trays is apparently RO-filtered water! That was the primary reason I refused all food and drink. From my point of view, I was eating contaminated food and could not believe that the others – the same kind of people who carefully wipe plates with a napkin at a restaurant to be sure they are fully dry – were just eating straight off the wet trays (and worse, drinking from the wet bowls!) ‘Disease factory’ was the phrase that came to my mind and I sat in absolute shock as everyone hurriedly ate (apparently, you have to eat fast) and I refused everything that came down the line.

If someone had told me beforehand that the water used to clean the trays was filtered, I would have been happy to try the food. As it was, I probably gave the impression that I must be some kind of freaky, picky eater. The organizers of the trip assumed I was starving after that (even though I was still stuffed from breakfast and snacks on the road) and they kept trying to feed me the whole way home, which embarrassed the heck out of me. I am happy to live with the consequences of my ignorance and OCD-like tendencies without being coddled. Notably, the teenagers did not partake of the meal either and no one coddled them. (They were the ones who told me about the RO filtering and pointed to the giant area where the filters were.)

It was also a little weird – but maybe in a good way – to be sitting down to a meal with someone who could be anyone. Who could be homeless. Could be a billionaire. I cannot think of an equivalent back home. There is charity food (soup kitchens and the like) and there are pancake breakfasts. But the audience doesn’t mix. I did feel a little guilty, though. I mean someone is paying for the food at some level. And we can afford to eat out. Aren’t we wasting resources? Aren’t there people who could use this free meal more than us?

On the whole, Dehradun and Mussoorie were nice areas that reminded me a lot of Shimla. Someone told me on the trip, that once I’ve seen one “hill station”, I’ve seen them all…